


Past Portal

by TheAzureFox



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: F/M, Gen, headcanons, predictions on how Akira and Ema met, ref to Greek mythos, some ideas are from Tieria, speculative fic, theories & speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 09:53:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAzureFox/pseuds/TheAzureFox
Summary: An anniversary.Ema Bessho stands at the gateway to another world.





	Past Portal

**Author's Note:**

> I...just want the show to tell us Ema's past already TwT
> 
> I mean, she's gotta have one but the question is...what exactly is the show hiding from us about her? If it wasn't for the fact that they still have yet to explain her past with Akira, I wouldn't be so bothered but it's because she DOES seem to have history that is, for lack of a better phrase, blatantly ignored makes me suspicious.
> 
> I'm...actually apt to say that the reason why Ema and Akira are hinted at having a relationship together but never fully discussed is because it's somehow important to the plot in other ways. We know they have history together in some fashion but considering all we've ever heard about is Akira's past with Aoi and not with Ema...well, it's a bit odd, to say the least. You'd think he'd have mentioned her somewhere in his speech ( _especially_ when she was RIGHT THERE BESIDE HIM when he discussed his past but...he completely leaves out Ema/Ghost Girl and just...it leaves a lot of questions about how these two met tbh). Still, it gives me hope that, while Ema's dead/not too important now, she'll one day get to have an arc of her own where she's made the center of attention in order for the audience to both know more about her and to progress parts of the plot we've yet to touch yet (*coughs*likeanotherworld*coughs*)

There are many things in this world that Ema Bessho is _not_ certain of. She’s not certain about her future, about where she heads in life or where she goes. She’s not certain about her relationships, about the people she meets and the people she chooses to stick with versus the ones she shakes into the dusts. She’s not certain about her job, about Ghost Girl or her source of income. She’s not certain about her apartment, her home, her warehouse, or her bases of operations. She’s not certain of many things, but if there is one thing she’s certain of, it is the universal truth that stitches her whole:

_She is not from this world._

Elf-tipped ears. Eyes of burning magenta fashioned in eyeliner black. Pink hair that rides along her back, purple and lavender bangs on either side with a swoop of violet behind her head. She compares herself, on occasion (and when she fancies it), to the others around her, to the crowd of people she lives among and the people she brushes elbows with. Each person is a creation of flat colors, of hair dyed in substances and in ears that end in round curves instead of the more pointed tip. People press against her but they do not compare to her; she, if she’s allowed to be arrogant, is a beautiful gemstone amongst unpolished rocks and she _knows_ this.

This is not her world nor her playground. This is not her place to walk and yet she walks it anyways, head held high to confront the fact that she is an outsider. She sneaks her way in, slips and slithers, tries to find a hold on the society she enters but, alas, she’s never managed a firm grip on its baffling contradictions. She is a boulder in the midst of an ever-rushing stream, a never-moving object in a current of time and space. She doesn’t belong here, she knows this. She’s never belonged here, never _will_ belong to a place so lacking in substance.

 _Still_ , she thinks, _there might be hope_.

There _are_ things that kept her anchored to the world she’s settled in, to the “Earth” that has so kindly taken her shelter. There are memories that she holds, memories that she hugs to her chest and prays she never lets go of. Even when the time comes and she departs ( _returns_ ) to the place she desires, there will almost certainly be lingering regrets that will make her feel guilty to walk away.

A breath.

Ema stands in front of an ancient door, two walls flanking either side of her. A scarf wraps around her hair, light pink mittens nestled on her hands and a lavender coat donning her person. Particles of mist ascend from her mouth, cascading up until it settles away in the wind. Her gaze is kept fixated on the front of her, eyes scanning the cracks of a place so worn down by time and the faded colors of a sign without meaning. _Entrance_ , it reads,  _to the world of your dreams!_

She manages a bittersweet smile because it’s all but the truth. This place before her had been the entrance to an arcade, once, when this corner of Den City had yet to be wracked with poverty and crime. Maybe, once before there had been children standing where she stood, huddled together under the cold as they waited to barge past doors of tinted glass. Maybe, once, families came to spend the weekend on games and excitement, their chatter idle as they came to and fro. Maybe, Ema believes with just a tinge of a dark smile, they found themselves spirited away into the entrance of another world.

The latter was a conclusion she found apt in light of her own experience. Though it was not true that she had been spirited away, it was true that this place was the site of otherworldly excursions. And who better than herself to know of such things? Who better than Ema Bessho, whose last name was a fatal alias, whose presence crept in from Atlantis, the lost world, whose existence in Den City was a _curse_ , to say such things? She spoke of only the truth, of the facts that most did not know and of the ideals that only those deemed foolish would dare to brandish in a time of myths and legends.

Slender fingers tuck pink strands behind elven ears and she parts red lips to breathe in cold winter air. On days like this she regrets coming and standing for an hour’s time, regrets peering into shoddily shattered windows and paint-curled walls. She’s come here for six years now, each year hoping and praying that the way to a world filled with creatures will reappear before her. She’s waited six years to return but never once has she actually. Instead, she’s remained here, burdened, spiteful, angry, scared, _frightened_ , and longing for the place she can finally set herself free.

“I want to go home,” she says, quietly, a soft admission of her deepest desire. It’s before this place that she finds herself at her lowest point, where she finds the layers of insecurity pulled out from her chest and shoved out into the world. She builds herself up behind a mask of false amusement, her twittering laughs and bladed words a façade to keep others from looking right through her. “I want to go back.”

Under a sky dampened with clouds laden with water, she stands and waits, watching as the shadow of a storm filters in.

“Ah,” she says. “Rain.”

She pulls herself into a sitting position, her legs pulled up to her chin as she stares at the emptiness before her. Once, long ago, this same place had rippled with energy, distorting with shimmering colors edged in panels of mystical silver glass. _A portal_ , those of Den City would have ultimately called it. _A gateway_ , Ema would have corrected. _A pathway between “here” and “there”_.

It’s times like this that she has a pang of homesickness. She misses the colors of another world, the brilliant hues of a place stained with glamours and lights. Did those on the other side miss her? Honestly, Ema wasn’t sure if they did. She didn’t know if she had anyone waiting for her nor did she know if she cared. Another one of her uncertainties: she didn’t know much about her own past. A tragic thought, she knew, but one that very much carried with it a bittersweet truth. Crossing in from Atlantis had robbed her of a great portion of her memories. She remembered little past the appearance of a utopia and the nostalgia for a home she had lost. How she _longed_ to return, how she felt her heart tug in _agony_ when she thought _Atlantis_ and stood at the entryway into a place she _could not_ touch again.

“How everything changes,” she muses in a whisper.

She remembers seeing the gateway from Atlantis. She remembers how her heart was pounding, how desperation pulsed through her body until she stood before a risk she no choice but to take. On the other side, this much she was sure of: she was prey to a predator she had no memories of. There was a reason why Ema avoided brute force. She preferred the tactics of ducking and running, of showing up only where needed and disappearing the moment she’d lost all interest in a situation.

If only Akira had allowed her to get away with that.

Ema remembers. On the day she arrived in Den City, she remembers everything, if only vaguely. She remembers slipping through a portal, remembers collapsing onto concrete. She remembers being unable to keep her eyes open but a loss of sight does not prevent a loss of her other senses. She remembers that her mind is throbbing, her body is on fire, and she’s suffocating in a world of air. She remembers a voice – firm, hesitant, but also kindly – calling out to her, a stranger, and of hands gently prodding her to pull her out of slumber.

She passes out before she can figure out much more but, when she awakes, she finds herself in a secluded warehouse. A blanket is placed on her body, a fire set crackling before her as a man greets her with a cup of a delicacy she does not recognize (black coffee, she’ll realize later, her soon-to-be favorite). _Akira_ , he calls himself. Ema does not recognize much of his culture, not then, but the fact that he had entrusted his first name to her so readily brought up more questions than answers.

“ _Akira,_ ” she’d called him, tasting his name on her tongue like a word she is apt to soon forget. Ema is grateful for his kindness, honestly she is, but he is a stranger to her and she is more than wary of the fact that she is a beautifully enchanting individual. However his intentions may have seemed, she had to be on her toes.

“ _What’s your name?_ ” He asks her, purple eyes holding her own.

“ _Ema_ ,” she says, figuring she should return the favor of knowing his name. But, as a precaution, she tacks on: “ _Bessho_.”

A false word.  _Pseudo-name._

If Akira recognizes the fact that she is lying about her last name, he doesn’t show it.

Rather, he asks another question:

“ _What were you doing collapsed in the middle of the street?_ ”

A dry smile, one crafted from amusement. “ _Would you believe me if I said I came from another world?_ ”

His expression had been nothing less of flabbergasted, his eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed in an expression of confusion. He doesn’t believe her nor should he. She’s researched this world a little before, in her independent studies of the world beyond. The citizens of this place knew little of what reached beyond. The furthest they’d gotten was building Link VRAINS: the virtual reality artificial intelligence network system that stretched far and wide across the Internet.

_(Later, when she’s still shackled to this world, she’ll stumble into Link VRAINS as a treasure hunter looking for the way back. Later, when she baptizes herself Ghost Girl and reaches into the mysteries of a world lacking magic, she’ll realize the truth. The VRAINS is built on ancient leylines that border the veil between this world and the next, between the place she is caged in and the place she so desperately wants to return to.)_

This man, Akira, was no different. He was no doubt a fool, an ordinary individual whose quarrels with other worlds started and stopped only at her presence. If she could help it, she would not stay with him long. She needed time to recover and, even if she wanted to escape, she couldn’t. Her body was still too weak from the effects of world-traveling, she was running a fever and she had no other place to go to for food and water. She had no access to the currency of this place and it was only because Akira was willing to nurse her back to health that she grudgingly stayed in his care.

And, if she’s a bit honest with herself, maybe she’s happy she did. Ema doesn’t get attached easily, not really. She comes and goes, never quite settling in. In the other world, in Atlantis, did she even have any friends? Did she weave in and out of partnerships or avoid contact as much as she could like she did this one? She’d like to think not, that she had friends on the other side or even a family to come home to. It was hard to say though if she did, indeed, have anything to return to. She felt like she did, maybe, but with all the holes in her mind it was honestly quite hard to say.

Regardless, her staying with Akira was probably one of the most complicated choices of her life. She didn’t want to be in his debt, didn’t want to have a complete stranger hold strings over her while she is too incompetent to escape. She was more than wary of him, cautious of the unending kindness he showed her. _What does he want from me?_ She keeps thinking.  _Why is he helping me, how does it benefit him?_

No matter how many times she asks herself those questions, she can’t come up with a feasible answer. She can come up with paranoid explanations, with actions and consequences that make her cringe, but she cannot explain his behavior, cannot explain the way his gaze softens with empathy or the way he brings her food day after day with only the expectation that she will eat it when he is gone.

He didn’t talk much about himself, this man, this foolish fool of a man, but he lets some things slip. When he’s not fretting over her departing from her makeshift bed or the fact that her forehead is burning, he’s telling her bits and pieces about himself.

 _Lonely,_ is what she first thinks when he does so. _He’s lonely._

Of course, it might be a mistake to say that now, knowing he has a sister he’s always kept in tow, but at the time she hadn’t yet known that. Akira never talked about Aoi, then, but perhaps if she looks back on it she understands why. Just as she didn’t trust him he didn’t trust her. Their relationship was of strangers and their isolated distance was near mutually reciprocated with the exception of Akira’s will to nurse her back to health. What little she knew about him came from the passing gossip he came to tell, the stories of kids who had been abducted and of virtual worlds built up as utopias. She suspected he only told her such tales because he felt that she needed the company and that he, too, wanted someone to talk to. Ema listened to his speeches because it was the only way she could learn about the outside world. She did not react to them and occasionally found them tedious, but there were things that caught her eye. Motorcycles, school, work, poverty, crime, thievery, and most importantly: card games.

If there was one thing that fascinated Ema more about this world than anything else, it was the card games. _Duel Monsters_ , Akira called it, fishing out his deck to reveal his cards. Ema had to admit she was nearly stunned when she saw Akira’s cards depict monsters of horrifying familiarity, of Tindangle Hounds and Tindangle Angels that ran rampant in Atlantis. Such creatures were regarded as wild animals, as beasts that, though not violent in nature, brought about an eerie sense of being watched. They were not Ema’s most beloved creatures but they were not unkind, either. She almost seems to recall a time were a Tindangle Acute Cerberus had curried her favor, a time where such a monsterous being had guided her into the portal of another world. How ironic that she’d find its _master_ in the other realm tending to her much like the beast had.

“ _Do you have a favorite archetype, Miss Bessho?”_ Akira had asked her, once, when he’d gotten comfortable enough to ask it. “ _A favorite kind of deck?”_

If monsters from her world translated into cards in this world, she figured she could give a good enough answer. There were special beasts that roamed her lands, creatures of creepy proportions and enchanting presences that captivated her since she was a child. “ _Altergeists,_ ” she’d say, softly, “ _I like Altergeists._ ”

He had nodded, satisfied with such an answer. “ _A good choice_.”

She’d smiled, almost flattered by such words. “ _Thanks_.”

The next day, however, he had completely surprised her by gifting her with Altergeist cards, collecting a deck that settled into the palms of her hands.

“ _W_ _hy are you giving me these?”_ Ema had asked.

“ _A gift,_ ” he’d said. “ _For putting up with me, Miss Bessho._ ”

She eyes him. “ _What do you want in return?_ ”

The man looks at her, aghast, as if her question has him speechless. He stutters up a response, uncertain. “ _I-I don’t want anything from you._ ”

“ _There must be one_ ,” she argues, eyes narrowed as she holds the cards back out to him. “ _Here, take them back. I don’t want to be in your debt anymore than I have to_.”

He shoves them back. “ _It’s fine. They’re yours_.”

The pink-haired woman shoves them back and Akira takes them, only to put them by her side and stubbornly shake his head. “ _They’re meant for you, no strings attached. I wanted to give them to you as an apology for forcing you to stay here with me._ ”

Honesty threads his voice and Ema almost falls for the pretty face he shows. His gaze is so soft, so benevolent that she almost becomes enchanted. This man is an idle fool, a charitable idiot whose pity she needs not. Still, against her will, she grows to fancy him. It creeps on her slowly, this want to remain close to him, but it comes upon her nonetheless. She doesn’t know why she softens around him, why she looks forward to the small talks they have or even begins to let down her guard. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he finally tells her his full name (“ _My real name is Akira Zaizen_ ”) when she has enough energy to play a round of card games with him (“ _It’s charming_ ,” she responds because she knows no better way of describing her surprise). Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he allows her to lean on his shoulder and escorts her into a moonlit sky, his eyes reflecting silver-threaded stars in a way she’d never thought possible (“ _It’s beautiful_ ,” he breathes and Ema makes the mistake of looking at him as he says it).

Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he lets her go with confusion on his face but understanding in his voice, a kind of upset look evident as she declares her intent to leave.

“ _Ema…_ ” He says her first name lightly: the first time he’s ever spoken it outloud. She smiles at the way his cheeks run red with embarrassment and he coughs into a fist. “ _Are you sure…?”_

She stands at the entrance to the warehouse he has previously sheltered her inside, regrets evident in the way she touches at her chest. “ _I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me_ ,” Ema responds, “ _but I can’t stay. I don’t belong here and I have no need to burden you anymore_.”

His eyebrows furrow but of course he’s confused at her choice of words. Ema can see the attachment lingering in his eyes, the fondness of familiarity that haunts her so. “ _You’re not burdening me_ ,” the man whispers, softly, in a voice that she can barely hear. “ _Can’t you_ please _stay?_ ”

“ _I have no reason to,_ ” she tilts her head at him, trying not to feel the way she wants to take back the words.  _I don't want to grow attached to someone I’ll only leave behind..._ is what she actually wants to say to him.

Akira has a look on his face that sings of frustration and she can’t help but give a mocking smile that will warn him off. It does little to dissuade him, however, and he only watches her with firm determination. “ _We’ll meet again_.”

He speaks with such confidence that she can’t help but let loose a lie: “ _I’m sure we will_.”

Under the cover of a night sky, she disappears and pretends to never look back. In the years following, however, an intentional fabrication becomes a reality and, eventually, her path regrettably meets with Akira Zaizen yet again.

She blinks and reels herself into the real world as a raindrop lands on the tip of her nose. Sighing, Ema Bessho crouches and stares vacantly at the broken glass doors in front. It does her no good to wait but she waits anyways, roosted in the spot of beginnings and her hopeful ending. The woman would not be lying if she said she was looking forward to the day she returned to Atlantis but she would also not be lying if she said she’d carry guilts with her at such endings. She couldn’t drag people with her when she left, she knew this. Still, she thinks of a man with lavender eyes and finds herself wondering if, perhaps, she could take him with her.

“He wouldn’t come anyways,” she tells herself, scolding. “And nor should he, he has a sister to take care of in this world, after all.”

 _(She says this before she_ knows _. She says this before she holds Aoi’s hand and looks at Akira with tears in her eyes and cries her heart out. How blind she must have been not to realize how close she was to a piece of home and yet so far away.)_

Rain continues to fall, pittering and pattering on cracked sidewalk streets. In the distance, she hears the whine of a police siren and the call of a stray dog on the hunt. A cat with a bell on its neck perches atop the old arcade building, eyeing Ema with disdain before hopping away with its tail in the air.

A bit agitated, she runs her fingers through her hair, the ends of her gloves snagging on her ears as she does so. How long must she wait before she can _return_ , before the way to _home_ opens up before her and she can just _disappear?_ She suspects she knows the answer but she’s not quite certain of its certainty. Everything starts and stops with Link VRAINS and she has little doubts that the leylines Den City has built upon are somehow important.

Nestled into the crevices of her mind, Ema barely hears footsteps pounding upon slick concrete. She is lost in such a reverie that her brain does not even register the fact that someone is moving throughout the streets, someone who has broken into a run. The dreariness of a rainy day keeps her spellbound, the memories of a place touched with white and faded colors a chattering companion to keep her busy. It is only when those footsteps come to a halt at the entrance of her alleyway does the woman recognize the “ _Ema!_ ” that pierces through the air.

Startled, Ema shoots to her feet and spins around, her heart wild in her chest as she sees, before her, Akira Zaizen standing with an umbrella in his hands. He looks rather ragged, his suit wrinkled and his body out of breath. She can see the faintest gleam of sweat on his skin underneath the shadow of the umbrella, his wide-eyed gaze relaxing in vivid relief when he sees her standing there.

“Ema,” he breathes softly, quietly, like he’s afraid she’ll bolt from him at any moment, “you scared me.”

“Why are you here?” She asks in a gentle murmur, the walls she puts up around him already torn down by her surprise. 

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he responds, nearly scolding as he approaches her. “Here.”

He holds his umbrella above her head and she takes his offering with a nod, scooting closer so that they stand a foot apart underneath her umbrella.

“You came to this place again,” he notes when she doesn’t respond. “I’m guessing you still have no luck?”

The woman shakes her head. “It never opens.”

Akira observes the phantom of a child’s playground and looks over her. “You never talk much about where you came from.”

She smiles, if only out of obligated amusement. He’s brought this topic up more times than she can count. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Another world, was it?” He chuckles. “Perhaps not then.”

“Atlantis is a wonderful place.”

“It sounds like the name of a legend.”

She almost gives an exasperated sigh. “It’s a real place.”

“I know.” His smile is sincere. “I trust in you.”

“It’s very beautiful.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’d be surprised at what you’d see. It’s not like this world at all.”

“Maybe.”

She peers at him and stands firm when he stares back, not willing herself to bend under such affectionate eyes. “Why did you come?”

“You weren’t answering my calls.”

Her tone is flat. “You’re  _lying_ , Akira. That’s not why you’re here.”

“How can you tell?”

“You come here to visit me every year,” she closes her eyes and then opens them. “You needn’t come.”

“But I want to make sure to say goodbye when you leave.” There’s something akin to panic in his eyes, a sense of dread as if he fears that she’ll slip loose from his fingers. Such thoughts are not unwarranted, however. She has no intention of letting him be present when she returns to Atlantis, not when she knows it will only make her hesitate.

“You’re far too kind,” she says, admonishing. “You have other things to worry about. Your little sister, for example.”

“She can take care of herself,” he declares, firm in his words. Ema would’ve once been surprised by such a declaration, before, when he had done everything in his power to keep little Aoi Zaizen under wraps. But, he’d learnt his lesson, letting his sister roam freely with only the concern of a big brother to keep him from completely dissipating the protective stance he once held.

“That she can.”

The blue-haired man watches her, lapsing into uncertain silence. She meets his gaze, an eyebrow raised, but Akira merely shakes his head.

“Don’t leave without at least saying goodbye,” he whispers. “Ema, please don’t.”

“I won’t make promises I can’t keep,” the woman responds, sharpening her voice with ice. “Not to people who won’t matter anymore once I get to the other side.”

He catches her lie with a frown. “So then, are you saying I matter to you right now?”

Her eyes widen and, inwardly, she berates herself for such a slip in words. “I never said _that_ ,” she tries to recover, tossing her head to the side so as to avoid his gaze.

“But you didn’t deny it either,” he says, a teasing smile tugging on the ends of his lips.

“ _Shut it_ you.”

He laughs. Ema can’t help but think it’s slightly charming. Though, she’d honestly be loathed to admit it. He didn’t need any more excuses to grow closer to her than he already did.

“I think it’s about time we head back,” Akira murmurs and she watches as he moves away only to pause and look back at her. “Come on. Or, are you going to stand out in the rain forever?”

“If I can help it.”

He scowls, a pinch of frustration making his eyebrows knit together. “Ema, you’re going to catch a cold,” he protests. “Come on, let’s at least go somewhere warm and dry.”

“But…” Ema looks at the doors long since shattered, “what if…”

Akira shakes his head, shedding the jacket of his uniform to wrap around her shoulders. She looks at him, disturbed by such kindness, but finds herself comforted by the way he steps back beside her and tilts his umbrella over her head.

“Then let’s wait,” he murmurs, “for as long as it takes.”

Touched by his words, her heart flutters. She allows herself the opportunity to slide close, their shoulders nearly touching as the rain drizzles on.

_(Secretly, she wishes she’ll never have to leave. She’s grown too attached to him, to this man who holds his umbrella over her head and who always wants to make sure he says “Goodbye” before she can prevent him. She’s grown attached to his sister, too, to the apprentice of an angel who crowns herself with the kindness of her brother. Leaving the Zaizens will be hard, but perhaps that’s why she sneaks away every year to disappear:_

Because she doesn’t want to regret leaving them behind. _)_

~~~

“Do you really have to go?” _Akira_.

“Akira, I must.” _Ema_.

“But so soon? Can’t you stay?”

“Brother, she can’t. You know this as well as I do.” _Aoi_.

“Even so, I don’t…”

“All of us must return, Brother. Atlantis is our home and it isn’t right for us to stay here any longer.”

Purple eyes shining. Amber and magenta ones glistening with heartfelt tears. From beside them they hear the cries of Kyoko and Aso, the sorrowful pleads of orphaned children and the stoic promise of Yusaku and Jin to meet again with tearful Shoichi.

Akira pulls Ema and Aoi into a tight hug, sweeping them into his arms as he begins to cry. They can’t help themselves; they cry too, nestling against him as the gateway to another world stands waiting.

“Promise me you’ll both come back,” he says, softly, voice choked with emotion. “Promise me I’ll you see you again.”

“You will, Brother,” Aoi says, hugging him tight. “I promise you will.”

Akira smiles and then turns to Ema, tears bubbling on the corners of his eyes. “And you?”

She manages a scowl. “Of course.”

He somehow laughs at that and manages to pull her closer, his head resting on her shoulder. “I have so many things I want to say before you go.”

“Then say them.”

“Not now.” A touch of red on his cheeks. “When you come back.”

“Coward,” she laughs, pulling apart to hold his hands. “You’re bribing me with my curiosity to return to you.”

A sheepish smile. “You caught me, Ema.”

“Fine then,” she closes her eyes and then flutters them open, “I guess I’ll have to come back and see what you have in store for me.”

“I guess you will.”

Ema wipes at her eyes and pulls Aoi up with her. The girl is sniffling, looking at Akira with a hand to her chest, but she pulls close to Ema and manages a confident nod at her brother.

“I’m ready,” she says.

Yusaku Fujiki, “Revolver”, Spectre, Go Onizuka, and Jin Kusanagi all nod in agreement, pressing through the barrier between Den City and Atlantis with final farewells to the citizens of a world not their own.

“Goodbye Shoichi,” Yusaku says to his caretaker, his calm expression not enough to dissuade the anguish from his face.

“Goodbye Brother,” Jin adds, clinging to Yusaku’s sleeve as he waves to the man he once considered his older brother.

“Goodbye everyone,” Revolver says to Dr. Kogami, Kyoko, Genome, and Aso, tears in his eyes as he holds Spectre’s hand.

“Goodbye,” Spectre echoes sheepishly, tucking a strand of platinum-blond hair behind an ear.

“Goodbye you all. Be good in my absence, alright?” Go says to a group of children that huddle before him, sniffling and bawling as he gives them one last goodbye.

Aoi nods at Akira, a smile on her face as blue tears gather in her eyes. “Goodbye, Brother.”

“Goodbye,” Ema adds, stepping forward to press a gentle kiss on Akira’s left cheek, “Akira. May we meet again.”

Akira’s face has the audacity to turn pink and not the red she wanted to see. Still, he does little to indulge in her disappointment, lifting up her hand to press a feathery kiss on the knuckles of her glove. Ema watches him with a soft smile as he steps back, lavender eyes glistening with both understanding and a kind of affection he rarely made visible.

“I’ll miss you,” he says.

Aoi turns from her side to disappear into the portal behind Ema, pausing only to watch as Ema begins to follow behind. The woman stops before a distortion of silver glass, the reflection of a brightly colored world sparkling like a mirage in the surface of the Atlantian portal.

“I’ll miss you too,” she responds, lightly, but with enough emphasis that a smile lights up on Akira’s face right before she falls through the portal.

(“ _I love you_ ,” is what she leaves unsaid when she wakes up on the other side.

On the other side, Akira thinks of a ring he has yet to buy and of a woman who has already crossed over into another plane of existence.

 _“I love you too."_ )

**Author's Note:**

> So...uh...Atlantis is a technical placeholder name bc I doubt VRAINS would actually call it that but I think it fits??? I mean, there's all this bg talk in the show about another world (with vague connotations of it being a "lost world") and the show seems to be basing itself on Greek mythos and apparently Atlantis is a Greek myth so...it might be a thing that VRAINS has an Atlantis of its own??? 
> 
> Idk if you follow my Tumblr you'll know that I've been theorizing for awhile that another world exists and it's only recently I've considered "Atlantis" to be that lost world. I mean, take a look at that scene in the Ai vs. Playmaker duel where Ai gets deleted and put into the middle of a giant sea that cause him to become "real" (or, sleepy, an attribute of living creatures). There's literally nothing in sight around that sea except the sky and if you know the myth of Atlantis, the city sunk to the bottom of the sea so maybe Ai's placement in the middle of a sea was at the very least a subtle nod to the mythos?? IknowI'mbeingoutlandishherebutI'mtooattachedtothisotherworldtheorywhoops


End file.
